


A Helping Hand

by erebones



Series: Sera Cousland [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Explicit Consent, F/F, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, M/M, Sex Education, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 10:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4662867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erebones/pseuds/erebones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair has never been intimate with anyone, and is terrified of messing things up when he finally consummates his relationship with Sera Cousland. Knowing Zevran has a wealth of experience, he goes to his friend for advice. Zevran is more than willing to deliver.</p><p>This takes place in the same 'verse as my Sera Cousland fic (and other future fics) but can be read as a standalone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Helping Hand

“Erm, Zevran, hello. I was wondering if I could get s-some advice…”

Zevran slid the book back onto its shelf, fingertips caressing the spine with all the attentiveness of a connoisseur replacing an excellent vintage on the rack for later. For such a stuffy househould, Redcliffe’s manor library held many an interesting specimen. The traditional Rivaini _kama sutra_ translated into Orlesian was a particularly delightful surprise.

“Naturally you may, my dear Alistair. What seems to be the trouble?”

“Uh, nothing… nothing is the _trouble_ , exactly, just, um…” Alistair shuffled his feet, looking about as threatening as a naughty four-year-old, plate armor and all. Zevran wondered idly if the man ever took the stuff off. He never seemed to be without it, even in camp. But then, calling the boy “shy” would be akin to saying that Fereldans had a passing fondness for their dogs. He turned to face Alistair fully, arms at his sides and head cocked at a precise degree of approachability.

“Well, well, Alistair, are congratulations in order? Can it be that our lovely Warden has finally made her intentions known?”

“Her what? Wait, you think—I mean that’s good, that’s great! You think if I asked, she would…she would…”

Maker, the boy was practically falling over himself with excitement. “Regardless of the question, dear fellow, I think the answer will be an unequivocal yes,” Zevran remarked, smiling faintly. Their Warden clearly had a soft spot for Alistair, puppy or no. “But if I may venture a guess… The Chantry does not offer many opportunities for, ah, experience in certain carnal matters, yes?”

Alistair’s already-pink face flushed a deeper red, and he rubbed the back of his neck with his gauntleted hand. “Er… well…”

Zevran waved him off. “Say no more, say no more. You have certainly come to the right person. Now, perhaps we should start from the beginning…”

Alistair made a suspiciously high-pitched _meep_ sort of sound, and coughed hard in a poor attempt to smother it. “Um, the beginning? I know where babies come from, Zevran, truly.” Then, under his breath, “If I’d wanted clarification on _that_ point, I would have gone to Wynne.”

Zevran winced at the very suggestion. “Never fear, Alistair, I wouldn’t subject you to such torment. No…” He allowed himself a step forward, nay, a _saunter_ , one hand coming to rest delicately at the juncture of Alistair’s elbow. Here the plate gave way to looser chainmail at the joint, and the warmth of Alistair’s arm seeped through just a little. “I had something a little more… _practical_ in mind.”

Alistair swallowed hard, eyes fixed to the place where Zevran held him. “I… practical?”

“Nothing you aren’t comfortable with… discussing, of course,” Zevran said smoothly. He stepped toward him again, putting a bit of pressure on his arm, and gently steered the warrior out of the library and toward the guest chambers. “But you must realize that with the giving and receiving of pleasure, there are certain things you can be _told_ , or read upon a page, but until you have the woman—or man—before you, spread open like a book ready to be devoured, it is all simply theory.”

Alistair stumbled a bit over his own feet as Zevran’s Antivan tongue rolled around the word _devoured_ , but the Crow was there to catch him. “I—I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I am. This is my area of expertise, no? Well, one of them,” Zevran chuckled. He steered Alistair turned the corner and they nearly ran into Leliana, who was humming vaguely to herself as she shut the bedroom door. Not her own door, Zevran was interested to note, but the Warden’s.

“Oh! Forgive me, gentlemen, I didn’t see you there,” she said lightly. Alistair blushed and stared at his feet, too preoccupied with Zevran’s careful suggestiveness to even really see her. Poor boy had probably never so much as had an erection in the presence of another female before. But Zevran’s well-trained eyes went directly to the slip of neck revealed by Leliana’s collar, and the faint smudge of red there. Well, well. Perhaps Alistair wasn’t the only one getting in some practice before the… main event.

“Sister Leliana,” he murmured, savoring the honorific on his tongue. She looked sharply at him for an instant before it melted into a beatific smile.

“Just back from sparring, are you? You look quite flushed, Alistair, you shouldn’t push yourself so hard.” She leaned in close enough to kiss the warrior’s ruddy cheek and patted Zevran on the arm. “Rest well.” And she passed across the hall to her own room in a cloud of jasmine perfume.

“I’m not _that_ flushed!” Alistair mumbled, touching his own face where she’d kissed it. “Am I?”

“Perhaps a smidgeon,” Zevran replied drily. He steered Alistair past the Warden’s room and into Zevran’s own. The servants had been by since the morning, and the bed was freshly made and tidy, his pack untouched where he’d sat it on a chair. The leaded window was cracked, letting in a draft that smelled faintly of lake sludge, but it was pleasant in a provincial, backwater sort of way. Zevran deposited Alistair in the other chair, angled in front of the unlit fireplace, and perched on the arm delicately.

“Now. To business. Perhaps you’d better tell me what you already know. It would be tiresome for us both to rehash old knowledge, yes?”

Alistair shifted in the chair. The armor really had to go. “I, um, don’t know very much.”

Zevran smiled agreeably. “And you have trouble giving voice to what little you _do_ know, I see.”

“Well, yes.” He stared at his hands. “The Chantry… forbids fraternization among its Templar recruits. It teaches that… that relations between unmarried people is a sin in the eyes of the Maker.”

Zevran winced a little. He was well acquainted with the effects of such teaching. “And do you believe that, Alistair?”

“I… the Revered Mother…”

“I didn’t ask what the Revered Mother thought. I asked what _you_ think. Now, today.” He let his hand come to rest on the back of Alistair’s neck, where plate metal gave way to cloth and skin. “Not as you were then.”

Alistair’s hands clenched tight, and then released. “I believe that the Maker created us for loving one another. In, in many capacities. And that if two people are in love, and—and desire one another, that to be together would not be a sin.” His voice had grown steadily softer throughout this speech, and by the end it was a rough whisper. “I’m—I’m old-fashioned, maybe, to believe in loving someone before you… um. But I don’t think there’s any harm in, in…”

“Fraternization?” Zevran echoed, somewhat amused. He was relieved when Alistair huffed a laugh, some of the tension bleeding out of him.

“Yes. That.” He sat up straight suddenly, turning to look Zevran in the eye. “I love her, Zev, with all my heart.”

“I believe you, Alistair.”

“And I want to… I want to make her happy. I want it to be _perfect_ , when we finally. Um. When we…”

“Arrive at a mutually agreeable point in time at which to engage in coitus?” Zevran offered.

The blush roared back to life, but Alistair held his gaze. “Yes. Er. That.” He rubbed the tops of his thighs anxiously. “Would you… help me?”

Zevran finally slid off the arm of the chair, going to lean against the chill stone of the fireplace a safe distance away. Now was not the time for warm, buttery seduction, lingering in Alistair’s space, breathing against the shell of his ear. Now was the time for honesty. “I would like nothing more than to ease this difficulty for you, my friend. But I wish to have a clear understanding of what to expect, for both of us.” He softened slightly at Alistair’s look of panic. “I know this is difficult for you, _mi querido_ , but in such cases it is best to speak plainly.”

Alistair wavered silently for a short while. But eventually a hard look of determination came over him, and he leaned forward slightly in his chair. “I want you to teach me how to be a good lover.” He said it in a rush, red to the tips of his ears, but he didn’t stammer once. “I trust you, Zevran. And I hope you know that I, that I would never treat you… less than you deserve, just because of your history. I ask because you are a friend, not because you are…”

“A whoreson?” Zevran filled in gently. “I know that, Alistair. I do not believe you’re even capable of malicious thought.” He stepped closer, allowing himself to cup that chiseled jaw. “I will not lie, Alistair, you are a beautiful man. It would be my honor to be your first. But I expect nothing beyond this day, and what happens here will not affect our friendship.” His thumb brushed the soft skin beneath the warrior’s lashes, long and dazzlingly blond in the afternoon light filtering through the window. “Is that acceptable to you, _mi querido_?”

Alistair licked his lips. “What does that mean?”

“My dear,” Zevran answered honestly. “I can refrain, if you wish.”

“No, that’s all right.” A dimple of embarrassment formed under Zevran’s thumb. “And… yes. It is. Acceptable.”

Zevran smiled and cupped his face in both hands, bending to bestow a chaste kiss on his forehead. “Excellent. If I may suggest, I think removing all this—” he rapped his knuckles on the hard ridge of Alistair’s pauldron “—would make you a bit more comfortable, no?”

Alistair stammered out an agreement, and with Zevran’s help he unbuckled the heavy plate armor and set it in a careful pile in front of the fireplace. Far from dousing the coals of arousal that had been building in Zevran since the library, the complex process only heightened his interest. While the man likely slept in his smalls the same as the next fellow, Zevran had never witnessed it. 

Beneath all the plate was a chainmail tunic, which Zevran insisted on unlacing. He stood behind Alistair, silently admiring his broad shoulders and solid waist, and undid the laces one at a time, feeling the heavy garment give a little more with every movement. When it was completely loose, Alistair let it slip down his arms and into a gleaming pile at his feet, and Zevran got his first look at the man beneath the armor.

Truly, Cousland was a lucky woman. Alistair was built like an ox, but not in the brutish, unsubtle manner of the qunari. He was broad, heavy-boned like all Theirins, but there was also a delicacy to him, a trimness in the line of his wrist, the curve of his waist. He stood carefully still as Zevran paced around him in a leisurely circle, admiring him. His shirt was simple cotton, loose at the neck to show the goodly amount of blond hair that dusted his firm pectorals, and it was tucked into leather trousers that hugged his narrow hips. Zevran eyed the placket of those trousers, noting with satisfaction the slight swelling there. Then his eyes trailed lower to his bare feet, the elegant ankles, the long toes with their neatly-kept nails.

“Truly, my friend, you do not disappoint,” he murmured, reaching out to smooth his fingers down Alistair’s back. The other man twitched at his touch, but then stilled, quiet as a gentled horse as Zevran trailed his hand down Alistair’s flank and up again to the middle of his chest. The heat of him seeped through the cotton as Zevran spread his fingers and pushed gently. Like a stone yielding to the patient pressure of the ocean, Alistair stepped back until his knees hit the bed. He sank down, eyes wide as Zevran did away with his own leather gear, leaving shirt and smalls intact.

“I am not a woman, as you may notice,” Zevran teased, “but the principle remains the same: do what feels good for you and for your partner. Take your time. Explore. Enjoy one another. Let her feel your affection in the way you touch her, the way you look at her.” He hooked his fingers in the laces of Alistair’s shirt and pulled, pushing the collar out of the way. “Be honest. With her and with yourself.”

Alistair took a steadying breath and took Zevran’s hips in his large hands. Zevran hummed, insinuating himself a little closer between Alistair’s knees. “Good. Hold her the way you look at her across the fire—with passion, with longing. Do not be afraid. She is a warrior, strong and proud, and she will not break under your touch.”

The warrior’s hands firmed, then moved, smoothing up his back under the hem of his shirt. Zevran smirked and arched his spine, sighing when Alistair’s grip moved to bare skin, thumbs pressing into the divots of his hipbones. “She’s so much smaller than I am,” Alistair whispered.

“All muscle,” Zevran said dismissively, and winked. “You are taller, _mi querido_ , but I wager she could take you in a fight.”

Alistair huffed a laugh. “I wouldn’t dare take that bet.” One hand slid up, slightly awkward, and pressed against his spine between his shoulder blades. “Zev, I…”

“Ask.”

“I’d like to kiss you.”

Zevran smiled and squeezed Alistair’s broad shoulders, fingers following the path of muscle up his neck to the short hair at his nape. There he squeezed, nails scraping through the bristles, and bent to meet Alistair’s mouth with his own. His lips were thin but mobile, expressive. Dry and warm, until Zevran parted them with his own and licked delicately at the soft skin just inside. Alistair gasped and pressed forward, hands tightening on Zevran’s waist. He hadn’t had many kisses in his life, Zevran could tell, but he was a quick learner. A few minutes of letting the Crow lead melted into Alistair growing more confident, more aggressive, until he was molding their mouths together of his own volition, sucking Zev’s plush lower lip, grazing with his teeth, licking his philtrum with delicate precision. There were few things Zevran appreciated more than a good kiss, and he sank into it, letting himself step a little further from the role of teacher into that of participant.

A groan resonated deeply in Alistair’s chest, and suddenly Zevran was being pressed against him, feeling the rumble in his own breastbone. Belly to belly, he could feel the other man’s keen interest pressing at the crease of his thigh, even through his shirt and Alistair’s leathers. The Warden gasped and broke the kiss abruptly, wild-eyed.

“Good?” Zevran murmured.

“I… Maker, yes, but—”

“You’re doing well Alistair. It is the natural progression of things.” Zevran held his gaze, and slid his hands up Alistair’s thighs as he carefully pushed into the cradle of those lean hips. Alistair’s lashes fluttered. “Mmm. How does that feel?”

“N-nice.” His words were proved true as he spread his knees even further and slid his hands down, down, under Zevran’s smalls to grip his arse.

Zev grinned and rolled his hips, letting his spine move in a smooth undulation. Alistair’s eyes fell shut and his lips parted, decadent. Maker, but this man was a treasure. “So good for me,” he purred, voice grown velvety and dark. His suspicions about Alistair’s slight submissive tendencies were proven as the Warden gasped and bucked into his embrace. “Such a natural. I think it’s time we removed some of this, don’t you?” He fingered the soft, aged leather of Alistair’s trousers, purposely playing with the seam that ran up one inner thigh and over the front placket. Alistair hissed out a breath and his eyes flew open.

“Yes. Yes, let’s—do that.”

With some reluctance, Zevran coaxed Alistair to release him. This had the benefit of allowing him to push the Warden on his back on the mattress, muscles jumping under the skin. Zevran undid the laces deftly and peeled the trousers down his legs. The smalls beneath were slightly damp, and smelled strongly of musk and clean sweat. Sidetracked from removing them, Zev hovered above the other man, breathing out, watching with satisfaction as Alistair’s prick jumped with every heartbeat.

“Z-Zev…”

“First rule of lovemaking,” Zevran whispered, hands creeping up Alistair’s creamy thighs. “Your most powerful tool… is your mouth.” Above him, Alistair groaned audibly. “Your hands, fingers, are a close second. And third…” He tapped the flat belly beneath him, just under the dip of his navel. “Your prick.”

Alistair licked his lips nervously. “I thought…”

“What? That a man’s sword is his most valuable weapon?” He smirked. “It is all about the context, _mi querido_. Sometimes, she will want nothing more than for you to take her in such a way, riding her into the mattress until the sweet force of it is all she can think about. But it is not the only weapon at your disposal, Warden. Observe.” Without giving him a chance to catch his breath, Zevran bent and mouthed over the head of Alistair’s manhood. The cotton was quickly soaked through, and he licked delicately at the frenulum, sucked the head between his lips, rolled the fat, sweet flesh against the roof of his mouth—all with the clinging fabric forming a thin barrier between them.

Alistair nearly shouted when he finally pulled away, but pressed one fist against his teeth instead. His eyes were black with arousal as Zevran sat up, peeling away his shirt and stripping out of his own smalls with lithe grace. 

“You see? There is far more to sex than…” Zevran’s lip curled, “putting your rooster in the henhouse.”

A beat of perfect silence was shattered by raucous laughter. Pleased, Zevran chuckled along with him, running his fingers delicately around the head of his own cock. Gradually Alistair fell quiet, distracted by the sight. When Zev was certain he had his attention, he slid the foreskin back and pressed his fingertip into the slit, sighing aloud.

“Do you bring yourself to pleasure, Alistair?”

“Um.” The Warden swallowed. “Sometimes. Not… quite like that.”

Zevran had moved to pinching and rolling the loose skin gently around the head. With patient fingers, he worked out a drop of precum, watched it drip onto Alistair’s bare thigh. “Knowing what brings you pleasure is the first step to bringing your partner pleasure. Touch yourself,” he said, injecting a shade of command into his own, and was gratified when Alistair obeyed instantly. “Gently, now. Start slow, just the drag of knuckles up the underside… yes. It is nice to tease oneself, is it not?”

“Yes,” Alistair panted. He watched Zev’s hand as if a magnet drew his eyes, rubbing himself through his smalls.

“It is much the same with your love. Let her reactions guide you. Experiment,” he encouraged. “Find out what feels best. Here.” He pushed Alistair’s thighs apart even more, settling close to draw a thumb along the curve of his sac hiding beneath damp cotton. “Your prick is not the only part of you that can feel pleasure.”

Alistair slammed his head back on the pillows, teeth sinking into his lower lip. “Zev…”

“And the same is true for her. There are places all over her body begging for your touch, your kiss, your breath. Some she may not even be aware of.” He stroked Alistair’s thigh encouragingly, watching as the other man slipped a hand into his smalls to work slowly at his cock. “It is up to you to find them, Alistair. Find the places that make her laugh, that make her sigh…” He leaned down, his mouth a breath away from the Warden’s ear. “That make her _scream_.”

Alistair bucked, crying out, and Zevran was nearly unseated. He gripped him by the shoulders, hard, and Alistair took him by the waist in turn, grinding his hips up into the elf’s weight. “Maker, Zevran,” he breathed, and yelped when Zev slid his hands down to pinch lightly at his nipples. “Oh, Zev, _fuck_.”

Zevran laughed delightedly. “Oh, this is what it takes to provoke foul language from the straightlaced Warden? How wonderful. I expect I don’t have to tell you that this will work _marvelously_ on Sera.” With that, he bent and fitted his mouth around one rosy bud. Curling his tongue around it, he sucked until Alistair had to muffle a bellow into the crook of his arm.

He broke away to run a tongue along one broad collarbone, and bit delicately. “Teeth are a delight,” he murmured, soothing the place with a kiss. “But gently, until she tells you otherwise. I will not mark you,” he added, and rubbed a comforting hand along his flank. “That, I shall leave to our fearless leader.” He winked and kissed that furred chest again before sitting up. “I confess you are at something of a disadvantage, _mi querido_ , as my body does not exactly match with that of your paramour.” He pulled leisurely at his prick to clarify. “So we shall have to be creative.”

“What… what is it like?” Alistair panted, hands moving familiarly over Zevran’s thighs.

The Crow cracked a grin. “What is what like?”

“Maker damn you, you’re going to make me spell it out, aren’t you.”

Zevran moaned quietly and pushed forward into his fist. “As I’m a bit busy to fetch you quill and parchment, I suppose speaking about it would suffice.”

“Nngh. What is it like to, to kiss a woman… a woman’s…”

“Ah,” Zevran sighed, and took pity. He wriggled backward, easing Alistair’s smallclothes down and off, and settled on his front between his spread legs. The sheets felt delightful against his arousal, and he rocked against them gently as he kissed the tender skin of Alistair’s inner thigh. “It is like nothing else in this world. So intimate. She will have you on your knees, but she will be entirely at your mercy.” He licked the crease of Alistair’s groin, cheek brushing the man’s turgid prick. “Between her legs a woman is soft, hot, wet. Tender, requiring delicacy. You cannot bludgeon her to pleasure, at least not initially.” He smirked, and let his smooth, unstubbled jaw brush Alistair’s knuckles where they held his length steady. The other man sighed, shakily, but didn’t move to stroke himself, hung on Zevran’s every word.

“Begin slowly. Taste her. I have not had the pleasure of… a personal encounter, but I suspect she is practical, uncomplicated. A little hair, here.” He ran his thumb around the base of Alistair’s prick, not quite touching the blood-hot skin. “The curls will be damp, if you have done your job well—kissed her mindless, touched every curve, sucked her breasts until she can barely remember her own name. And below that a slit, slick with the evidence of her arousal.”

He pushed the flat of his thumb into the space behind Alistair’s sac, and the Warden arched a little, legs falling open wider. Alistair released his own prick to stuff his hand beneath the pillow, the other resting on Zevran’s head with infinite gentleness. “What else?”

“Touch her first with your fingers, carefully. Spread her open. Don’t be too shy to look—what you see with your eyes you will be better able to kiss with your mouth. She will be pink, still wet, and the smell of her will fill your nose.” He pressed his own nose to the base of Alistair’s prick and inhaled deeply, provoking a muffled yelp. “At the very top, you will find a pearl, a small bud that will bring her impossible pleasure. Tease her there, gently. Test her reactions, find what motion she prefers. She may even be able to show you herself.”

Alistair’s head popped off the pillow, flushed, hair askew and eyes wide. “Show me?”

Zevran smirked. “Self-pleasure is not the sole province of men, Alistair, and our Sera is a clever girl. I have no doubt she spent many a long winter evening as a blossoming young woman secluded in her bower, hands beneath her smalls, exploring… wandering… _tasting_.” Very slowly, he extended his tongue and lapped the tip of Alistair’s prick. Bitter salt bloomed in his mouth, and the Warden gave a soft cry of encouragement. “And when she is well and truly aroused, begging you to allow her release, you will find her entrance below.” With deft fingers, he brought his hand lower between Alistair’s legs and grazed his hole.

Alistair cried out, too late to muffle the sound with his wrist. His hips bucked, shifting Zevran’s weight, and the elf bent swiftly, taking the leaking prick into his mouth and sliding down with firm, precise suction. Although he was careful not to breach his body, he pressed more firmly at the tender skin beneath his fingertips, and with a few bobs of his head he had the Warden shouting out his orgasm to the ceiling.

The room seemed suddenly quiet in the aftermath, even with Alistair huffing and puffing fit to bring the walls down around their ears. His cock twitched against Zevran’s tongue as the elf let it slip free, swallowing the evidence with neat professionalism, and slowly the Warden brought his hands up to cover his face. “Maker’s breath.”

Zevran kissed one freckled hip. “That bad, eh?”

“I… what? No, I just…” He propped himself up on his elbows slowly, as if every muscle ached from overuse. “The entire bloody town of Redcliffe probably heard that.”

Zevran grinned. “Perhaps.”

Alistair glared meaningfully. “ _Including_ Sera.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about that. Doubtless she’s still a bit fuzzy around the edges from spending quality time with Leliana.”

“With—wait, what?”

Alistair looked well and truly upset now, and Zevran rushed to comfort him, kneeling up to brace both hands on his firm, pale thighs. “My dear Alistair, calm yourself. It was likely of a similar nature to this… encounter, if I was reading Leliana correctly. I cannot imagine that Sera has lasting eyes for anyone in our party but your own delightful self.” He reached out and stroked Alistair’s cheek. “I don’t mean to be harsh, but you aren’t allowed to be jealous of such a thing, not after this.”

His eyes dropped, and he leaned a little into Zevran’s hand. “I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” He trailed off, gaze sharpening a little as he focused on a point rather lower than Zevran’s face. “Oh, Maker, you never—I didn’t—”

Zevran couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Alistair, sweet man, this evening was about you. There is nothing you need to—oh, Maker…” Words failed him as Alistair reached out, unabashed for once, and closed his large hand around Zevran’s still-interested prick. While it had waned a little during their chat, Alistair’s calloused touch was doing wonders at rousing it fully. He rocked his hips subtly into the Warden’s grip, and Alistair rewarded him by pushing him down onto the blankets.

“It would be remiss of me, I think,” Alistair murmured, “if I were to abandon this part of my education, no?”

The accent wasn’t spot-on, but he had the verbal tic down pat. Zevran threw his head back against the pillow and laughed even as he pushed into Alistair’s welcoming hand. “Right you are, _mi querido_. But, as I say, my anatomy is not… quite… hmmm.”

Alistair looked up through his lashes as his tongue circled the head of Zev’s cock and withdrew again. “What was that?”

“Erm, nothing, nothing at all. Do… feel free to, _ahhhh_ , continue.”

It was sloppy and unpracticed, but the boy was eager, and his mouth so soft and wet around him. Zevran fisted his hands in the sheets as Alistair sank nearly to the base of his prick and sucked hard. Maker help him, but it seemed there _were_ uses for such a big mouth. Alistair caught on quickly, and soon had a rhythm built while his free hand explored Zevran: his heaving belly, his rosy nipples, his hairless sac and the hidden place behind it. Braver than Zev had given him credit for, he dipped his forefinger shallowly into the elf’s body, teasing the muscle there even as he licked and mouthed inexpertly but _so_ erotically at Zevran’s cock.

“Alistair,” he breathed, reaching out to brush softly at the man’s short hair. “Oh, _mi querido_ , I’m close.”

The Warden hummed and withdrew slowly, lips catching on every bump and ridge along the way until he could pull off with a soft _pop_. He licked away the string of saliva threaded between his lip and Zev’s prick and smiled, just a little uncertain. “What should I…”

“Here.” The Crow took hold of the hand that was currently teasing his entrance and brought it to his prick. “While I would love for you to be inside me, the time for that is past.” He grinned, dazzling, the blood pounding in his ears. “Stroke me off, hard.”

Alistair obeyed, the considerable slick of his own saliva easing the way. His fist fairly flew under Zevran’s broken encouragement, tugging fiercely at the foreskin, thumb pressing at the slit with every pass. The peak took hold suddenly—every muscle tightened, abdominals drawing a sharp line to his cock as it spurted two thick lines of white over Alistair’s chest and forearm. Quieter than Alistair, Zev still released a soft grunt, then a sigh as each successive shudder grew softer and farther apart.

When it was finished he slumped back, a little dizzy. Distantly, he could feel Alistair releasing him and slipping away, the mattress dipping as he left the bed. A wet cloth was wiped over his damp prick, and then Alistair was beside him again, lying close but not quite touching.

“Was that… good?” the Warden asked softly.

Slowly, Zevran started to giggle. He muffled it in the breadth of Alistair’s shoulder, a smidge relieved when the warrior didn’t pull away. “Oh, my friend, that was more than _good_. It was _excellent_. Most satisfactory. Hmm. Yes.” He sat up and stretched languorously, enjoying the slow warmth that filtered through his body with the aftermath of orgasm. “Easier than you expected, wasn’t it?”

“I… yes.” Alistair blushed and fiddled with the laces of his trousers. Pity he’d been so quick to replace them. “This means a lot to me, Zev, and—”

“No, don’t thank me,” Zevran interrupted. “Believe me, it was no hardship.” He smirked at the unintentional pun, then looked over at the broad beast of a man lying awkwardly at the very edge of the mattress. “Dear boy, come here.” He tugged on one muscled forearm until Alistair succumbed, rolling onto his side with Zev tucked in against him. “Post-coital closeness is a crucial step.”

“Hmm.” The considering hum rumbled under Zevran’s ear. “I suppose it is rather nice. Being so close and then just… not. Seems so cold.”

“Indeed.” Zevran lay quietly for a bit, soaking up the warmth and closeness of a human being he trusted. Although skittish at first, Alistair seemed to have calmed to the prospect of a cuddle, and his heartbeat was slow and steady against Zev’s back. The warrior was completely relaxed, in fact, which was both encouraging and a little baffling. Had it really only been an hour ago that the boy had come to him, stumbling and stammering over himself, barely able to speak?

“You’re thinking reeeeally loudly,” Alistair whispered at last. He laughed and shifted when Zev poked him hard in the side, but didn’t let go of him. “Was this alright? What we just did?”

“Of course,” Zevran replied confidently. And truly, he had no reservations. “I’m just… impressed, I suppose. You seem much more comfortable now than you did half a candle ago.”

Alistair shifted again, this time to bring his hand up to rest uncertainly on Zev’s shoulder. “I didn’t think it would feel different, but it does. I feel… more confident. Not that one night of, er, debauchery makes me an expert…”

Zevran couldn’t help but laugh. “My friend, if this is what constitutes as ‘debauchery’ I would dearly love to introduce you to an Antivan bathing club. Regardless…” He slipped free of Alistair’s hold and turned over to look him in the eye. “I believe you’re a natural, Alistair. Let your feeling guide you, and don’t be afraid to ask questions, to find out what is making her feel good. Sighs and moans are all very well, but verbal confirmation never goes amiss.” He squeezed Alistair’s hand briefly. “Whatever you do, whenever you decide to do it, I know you will make her _very_ happy.”

He was blushing again, bless him. He accepted a soft kiss on the cheek, and then followed Zevran’s lead as the elf left the bed and fished around for fresh clothes. “Dinner will be served soon. Wouldn’t do for the Arl’s own nephew to be late.”

Alistair huffed and yanked his old shirt over his head. Zevran sincerely hoped he wouldn’t be wearing plate armor to every meal, not with Connor in his right mind and undead no longer plaguing the village. “Yes, Zev, thanks for reminding me I’m terrible at this bastard prince business. Although I suppose I sort of fit into the rakish womanizer role a little better than before.”

“Ha! Perhaps get a woman into your bed and I will defer to you as such, no?” Zev winked, then laughed at Alistair’s look of outrage. “Rest easy, my friend, I know you are devoted to your Lady Warden.”

Alistair elected to leave his armor here for now and return to his rooms for fresh clothes instead. He hovered at the door, watching as Zevran expertly rebraided his hair and smoothed down flyaway strands without the help of a mirror. The elf took pity on him and walked lightly to where Alistair lurked, an awkward shadow approximately the size of a barn.

“Thank you,” Alistair blurted before Zev could speak. “I know you told me not to, but it means a lot, and I… I am glad to call myself your friend, Zevran.”

The elf regarded him quietly for a moment, then smiled. "Zev. My friends call me Zev.”

Alistair laughed, eyes crinkling. “So they do. Thank you, Zev.” He leaned it, awkward but determined, and bussed the side of Zev’s tattoo with his lips. “See you at dinner.” He opened the door and slipped out quietly, but not before Zevran snuck a hand out to pinch him on the arse.

Zev snickered behind the door as Alistair’s yelp echoed all the way down the corridor.


End file.
